


were my love but an earthly man

by orcamermaid



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Ballad 39: Tam Lin, Fairy Tale Retellings, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-14
Updated: 2020-03-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:00:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23142088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orcamermaid/pseuds/orcamermaid
Summary: Martin stumbles upon a strange abandoned library deep in a faerie wood.(or: a jonmartin tam lin au)
Relationships: Background Peter Lukas/Jonah Magnus, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 11
Kudos: 70





	were my love but an earthly man

**Author's Note:**

> i am simply being the change i want to see in the world and writing a tam lin au. this has a historical setting (like the ballad), but i've opted for modern dialogue.
> 
> i'm not sure yet how many chapters this will have, but probably not that many; i would estimate three or four. and yes, this story will have a happy ending—canon-typical for tam lin, if decidedly not for TMA.
> 
> fic title from [child 39G](http://tam-lin.org/versions/39G.html), chapter titles from [jennifer holm](http://tam-lin.org/versions/jholm.html). (holm is also my preference in terms of story, and easier to read than 39A, although of course that version is a classic.)

The forest was dense and dark. The sunlight was a hazy green, having filtered through the thick canopy overhead, and even at midday it could hardly be called bright. Martin stroked a hand absentmindedly over his horse's neck as he looked around. He'd never been this far into the woods before. Peter didn't like him to stray too far from the castle or stay out for too long, and even had that not been the case, he knew people avoided these woods. He could see why; the lush greenery, while beautiful, had a certain foreboding quality, and since entering the forest he'd felt oddly watched.

He tied Eurydice to a tree by a small stream, where she could drink if she wanted. He figured he'd wander until he found a nice spot to sit down and write for a bit. Moorland Castle may have been his home, but he found that creativity did not come easy to him in its cold, cavernous halls. Hopefully he'd do better out here.

Martin hummed softly to himself as he walked, taking in his surroundings. Dark and unsettling as it was, he couldn't help but think how beautiful the forest was. The trees looked ancient, and they were covered almost completely in soft, thick moss; the forest floor was dotted with tiny flowers. Here and there he saw gnarled rose bushes, their rich red blooms so vibrant they nearly glowed. He was so enraptured by them that it took him a moment to realise he'd stepped into a clearing. Tearing his gaze from the greenery, he looked up, and immediately his breath caught in his throat.

In the middle of the clearing stood a building. It was on the larger side, and made of stone, but it was so overgrown that he couldn't make out any distinguishing features. It looked intact, though—absurdly so, for an abandoned building in the middle of a forest—and in fact the wooden door was not only clear of plants but looked as good as new. He'd have expected it to be rotten and falling apart, but it sat snugly in its frame. He approached the building slowly. As he neared he could make out the vague shape of small windows beneath the layers of plants that covered the building. Martin stared. Why was this here? It didn't look like a home, especially not one you'd find all on its own in the middle of the woods. The nearest village was even farther away than Moorland Castle, and it had taken him well over an hour on horseback to get here. He couldn't think of a single satisfying explanation for the existence of this building.

Tentatively, he tried the door, still half expecting it to crumble at his touch despite its apparent condition. It did not crumble, but instead opened smoothly. It was not locked, or the slightest bit stuck. He stepped inside.

The windows let in just enough light to see by. The room was filled with books—lined up on shelves, open on tables, in towering stacks on the floor. He could see loose sheets of parchment strewn about, and an inkwell on one of the tables. It looked like a particularly messy library. In the middle of a forest. He shook his head. This should not be here. It _could not_ be here. The sensation of being watched was stronger in here; his head almost hurt with the weight of it.

He made his way through the building slowly. Every room looked much like the first one: a mess of books and papers on every surface. He passed through several before reaching what looked like a modest bedroom. Unlike the other rooms, it was not empty.

Martin stopped in the doorway and stared. There was an armchair by the window, and slumped in the armchair, clearly asleep, was a man. Not just a man—the most beautiful man Martin had ever seen. He had long dark hair streaked with silver, and it fell messily across his face. His features were angular and delicate, all high cheekbones and narrow nose and long neck. His plush lips were parted slightly in sleep. Martin knew he was staring, but it couldn't be helped. He hadn't been expecting to stumble into anyone out here, let alone a devastatingly handsome young man asleep with a book in his lap. He must have fallen asleep in the middle of reading; the book he held was open, and one of his slim, elegant hands ( _get it together, Martin_ ) rested on top of it. Martin tried and failed not to think this was terribly sweet.

His mind raced. Did this man live here? In an abandoned library in the forest? He hadn't seen a horse outside, and it seemed incredibly unlikely that he had walked here, given the distance he'd have had to traverse. His clothing was simple but looked whole and clean; he wore a loose grey tunic belted at the waist, a bit old-fashioned in its cut, and undyed hose. His short leather boots showed no signs of having recently endured a long trek through the forest.

The sensible thing would certainly be to back out of the room as quietly as possible and leave this strange place. Martin knew this. He had not come here to explore a mystery library. Still, he knew that if he left now, he'd never stop wondering what it was he'd found. He'd never stop wondering who the beautiful man had been.

There was nothing for it. He sighed.

"Excuse me?" he said softly, taking a step towards the sleeping man. He did not stir. "Excuse me?" he repeated, a bit louder this time.

The man opened his eyes.

As soon as he awoke his eyes met Martin's, and he recoiled, looking so confused and out of sorts that it bordered on afraid.

"What— Who are you?" he stammered; his voice, though currently shaky, was deep and lovely. "What are you doing here?"

Martin toyed anxiously with the hem of his moss-green gipon. "I was wondering the same thing about you, actually," he said lightly. "I didn't really think there was anything out here. Oh, um— I'm Martin."

The man stared at him. "Jon," he replied slowly, as though unused to having to introduce himself. Now that he was a bit closer to him, Martin could make out a smattering of freckles across his face. His eyes were a deep brown, nearly black, and almost dizzying in their intensity.

"You didn't answer my question," Jon said. _"What are you doing here?"_

"I was looking for a good spot to write some poetry." Martin blinked. He hadn't intended to be quite that straightforward. He wasn't sure why he'd said that.

Jon furrowed his brow. "Poetry?" he said. "And you just stumbled across the archives?"

"Yes," Martin said with a shrug. "It's really weird to find a building out here, you know. I was curious, so… I went inside. Did you say archives? Is that what this place is?"

Jon nodded. "The archives of King Jonah."

"King—" Martin paused, confused. "That's not the king's name. I don't think we've _ever_ had a king called Jonah, actually."

"Not _that_ king," Jon said. "The king of the faeries."

Martin found that he did not have a good response to this. Of course he'd heard that these were faerie woods, but hearing it stated so plainly and concretely was somehow different.

"Is that what you are?" he said after a moment of floundering. "A faerie?"

Jon sighed and ran a hand down his face. "I suppose I must be by now," he muttered. Martin wasn't sure what he meant, or what to say in response.

Jon got to his feet, setting the book aside and smoothing out his tunic. "Listen," he said, "this isn't a good place for you to be. You… It wouldn't be good if he found you here." He grimaced.

"The king?" Martin asked. Jon nodded. "Oh. I see." It made sense; he'd always heard that faeries were territorial, even though Jon seemed more confused than angered by his presence. "Wait, but… what is this place, anyway? You said archives, but what does that mean? What is it an archive of?"

Jon shrugged. "Anything the king can get his hands on, really. The bulk of it is accounts of encounters between humans and faeries, both in this forest and elsewhere, but we've got all kinds of books and journals."

Martin looked around the room, which, like every other room he'd seen in the building, was filled with books and papers.

"Where do you _get_ them all?" he asked. "You're so far from everything out here."

Jon looked faintly uncomfortable. "He, um. He takes them. From people who pass through the woods. That's the price. If you can give him something interesting—a book, or a story—you're allowed to journey on safely."

Martin blinked. "What if you can't?"

"Then things don't go so well for you," Jon muttered. Martin realised with a start that he hadn't brought anything like that with him into the forest.

"Do— do I need to be concerned about that?" he managed. Jon looked up at him, suddenly alarmed.

"No," he said firmly. His eyebrows were drawn together. "No, I won't— I won't let him do that. Not that he listens to me, but— no. He won't touch you, I swear. But you should probably leave as soon as you can."

"Oh." He was somewhat touched that Jon was so adamant that he wouldn't get hurt, even though he wasn't sure why. "I will, but can I…" He hesitated. "Do you think I could see you again?"

Jon looked perplexed. "You want—?" He paused for a moment, thinking. "I… suppose you could come back, if you wanted. But bring something for the king next time, just to be safe. And don't come after dark. He doesn't see as much during the day."

* * *

It was still midday when Martin returned to Moorland Castle—he'd set out early. He absentmindedly handed Eurydice's reins to the stablehand and entered the castle, lost in thought. He wished he could have stayed and talked to Jon a bit longer. He had few friends, and none that lived in mysterious faerie libraries.

Peter found him in a chair by a window in one of the sitting rooms, where he'd situated himself after picking up a piece of bread and an apple from the kitchens. His thick eyebrows were drawn together in frustration.

"Martin," he said. "Where were you? You've been out of the castle all morning."

Martin swallowed his mouthful of apple.

"I just needed some fresh air," he said. "I didn't go far."

Peter frowned. "You know I don't like you wandering off without telling me."

As if he were a child. Martin resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

"I know," he said. "I'm sorry, Peter. I didn't mean to worry you."

Peter waved him off.

"Fine. But don't be so long next time. There's nothing out there that's good for you."

He turned and stalked off. He never had been one to draw out a conversation past absolute necessity. Martin made a face at his retreating back and took a bite of his apple.

_Nothing out there_. Peter had no idea. His fingers itched for a quill, itched to imperfectly note down in verse the angle of Jon's cheekbones, the curve of his eyelids, the sweep of his jaw… He shook his head, smiling to himself. He was being ridiculous. Jon was a faerie. He lived in the woods. He was no kind of romantic prospect. Still, if Martin had the tiniest crush on him… surely that was harmless.

* * *

Jon knew as soon as he woke up that Jonah was there. He didn't need to see him; his presence was a palpable weight in the room. He sighed and sat up.

Jonah stood at the foot of the bed, watching him impassively. His green eyes gleamed in the faint dawn light that trickled in through the window.

"You've had company," Jonah said. It was not a question.

"Yes," Jon said, his voice rough with sleep. "A young nobleman."

Jonah nodded. "From Moorland Castle." There was a faint flicker of amusement in his eyes, although Jon couldn't think why.

"Yes," Jon said again. "He just stumbled in. He didn't know what this place was."

Jonah walked slowly around the bed until he was right next to Jon, staring down at him.

"You didn't take a statement from him," he said. "Even though you were owed one. And that's not all, is it, Jon? You told him he could come _back_."

Jon looked away. At once Jonah's cold hand was around his jaw, wrenching his head back and up, forcing him to meet his gaze.

"You forget your place," Jonah said quietly. "You are mine. Everything in this forest is mine. If your boy comes back here, _he_ is mine. You do not have the authority to grant him free passage through _my_ forest. You will tell him to stay away, or I will take him. Do I make myself clear?"

Jon glared up at him. Jonah's fingers tightened and dug painfully into his jaw. "Yes, your majesty," he spat, teeth clenched. Jonah gave him a cold smile and patted him condescendingly on the cheek.

"Wonderful," he said. He took a step back and looked around the room with disdain. "Do make sure to put some more effort into your work, Jon. This place is a mess; it's a disgrace."


End file.
